


Picture

by Flailingkittylover



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Mentions, Eremin - Freeform, Harsh Language, M/M, Mafia AU, Modern AU, Uh romance I guess?, more like seduction Lmao, snktober 2020, suggestive content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:22:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27195070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flailingkittylover/pseuds/Flailingkittylover
Summary: They went from street rats to a feared gang all within a span of ten years. With their talents, they shouldn’t settle for second best. At least, that’s Eren’s thought.
Relationships: Armin Arlert/Eren Yeager
Comments: 5
Kudos: 46





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**Author's Note:**

> Made for SNKtober Mafia AU o_o
> 
> What can I say, Mafia details are interesting lmao. Though a warning, as the interrogation tactics here are...eh, harsh lol. 
> 
> Armin’s attire I imagined is based off this [commission!](https://twitter.com/samuraidrop2/status/1314219908012466176?s=21)
> 
> Note: If you are reading this fic on any outlet other than AO3 website; please note that it is there without my permission. This is tantamount to theft.  
> I wrote this for free.

The numbers scribbled across his ledger grow as his wrist moves. Expensive tobacco purchased from the isles of the home country rise in smoky tendrils from between his index and middle finger. The smell soothes the mob boss’s chest as much as it pleases his nostrils—it’s a welcome distraction from the recent introduction of bitter copper and sweat. Black ink from the tip of a pointed pen circles the total on the bottom of the paper. 

“Looks like Jean was right,” Armin muses. The lit butt of his cigarette is extinguished in a nearby ashtray—he wastes no time in lighting up a new one from the mahogany box to his left, “Branching out into Miami ended up being profitable, after all. Three months now and we’ve had a steady cash flow of $250,000 a month.” 

A successive _crick-crick-crack_ rings out from Eren’s bronze-knuckled fingers, “Guess that walking Easter-Island-Head was good for something, after all.”

The cigarette in Armin’s mouth dips down from his corner smile, “No need to be jealous, Eren.”

“I’m not _jealous!”_ Armin doesn’t flinch at the bone-crunching _whack_ which follows. A howl and a sharp cough rings throughout the room—their guest strapped to a chair is clearly not a fan of Eren’s fierce right hook. The thick tarp Eren walks over crinkles loudly as he moves to face Armin, “More like shocked that Jean actually ended up being useful. I didn’t like how squeamish he was at his initiation.”

“Not all of the lower rankers are as bold and naive as you. And if I recall correctly, you were plenty nervous too,” Armin transitions his cigarette to rest between the same fingers which now pen the assets from his New York shipments. Throughout his thoughtful calculations, Eren asks questions; crunches of a fist against skin, gurgling yells, and the _clip_ of robbed fingernails then blend together, grow louder, rumble against eardrums more harshly. It’s distracting enough for Armin to pause, calculate for a second time in his head. Their fat counterpart whimpers when he tells Eren “I’ve told you all I know”, sniffles so often, Armin runs his fingers through his slicked-back hair. He’s irritated, “Eren, could you hurry it up already?”

  
  


A trademark sneer exposes one of the taller man’s incisors, “And here I thought you were more patient than me, Boss,” Bruised hands take pliers with stained red tips from the metal plate resting at the far end of Armin’s desk, “Interrogation takes time. I can’t rush it.”

“I’m trying to run numbers here. I could miss an important entry if you keep prolonging this. You’re also lucky you had the sense to cover the walls and floor with tarps. With how messy you are, I’d have to remodel my entire study.”

Eren pushes sweaty, black hair over his forehead and crown, trying to keep the damp, hair strands out of his face. Liquid red which didn’t originate from Armin’s right-hand man’s own veins streak his nose, cheek, and shirt, “You wanted to make sure people who steal our shit fear you, right? Even put some fear into the lower ranking wise guys? This is how I’m doing it.”

“And I want everyone to recognize him when we leave his body in the streets.” Armin enforces sternly, “We need to keep the cops on our payroll in check too. Let them know that anyone who steps out of line will end with you or Jean going after them.”

There’s this judgmental purse of lips Eren provides which has Armin raise a brow. His thumbs hook around the black suspenders he wears, “You really think Jean’s ready to rise up the ranks? He’s got too much of a fascination for Mikasa for my taste. Could get in the way of decisions.”

Armin snorts, his condescension all too clear, “You’re one to talk, Eren. And yet you’re still here and you manage to clean up after yourself. Mikasa can handle herself too and she’ll put Jean in his place if he tries something he shouldn’t—he’ll answer to us too, _if_ he tries. Plus, the lower rankers respect him. He’ll corral the troops for us should we need it.”

“What, you don’t think the others respect me?”

The leather chair creaks as Armin leans back, a jet of smoke flowing out of his mouth, “Most do while others think you’re an idiot. But that’s just how the hierarchy works. Your tendency to shoot first and think later does set me on edge at times though.”

Eren sneers, “Fair. But I peg it to everyone just being steamed because no one can keep close to their admirable boss. Not like Mikasa and I can.” 

Armin diverts his eyes down, pens more numbers down in his ledger, “Mm.”

The plump mole they weeded out chokes on the gag Eren shoves into his mouth. Muffled yells from a _squelch_ and bones snapping follow after, enough to have Armin stop, wait for Eren to finish breaking the man’s thumb and yanking a tooth. Truly, he’s regretful the boy chose this route. Armin liked him but robbing cocaine which took much effort to import is an action he cannot give mercy on. He can’t afford to look soft—not anymore. 

There’s the sound of tarp crinkling then the clopping of shoes—the noise approaches Armin. His hand ceases writing when a large hand squeezes his right shoulder, “You’re tense, Armin.”

“ _You’re_ not helping, Eren.”

“I can, if you want. It’s why I’m doing this to that shit-head over there. He betrayed your confidence, your generosity. Trying to steal from such a leader should be met with harsh punishment.” 

It’s been puzzling Armin all night. It’s a simple bullet to the chest and head then depositing this man’s body in some garbage pile on the most defiled place in town. Yet Eren insisted Armin be present during this tedious torture, outfitted his room to make sure no blood stained the blue carpet or freshly painted walls with half a million dollar worth paintings.

Armin places the cigarette back to his lips, “And why are you so determined to do that?”

“...Because I can see it,” Eren releases Armin. The pointed edge of the pliers revolves around in Eren’s hand until it folds into his palm. He forms a rectangle with his thumbs and index fingers, raises his hands and tool above his chin, “I’ve had it pictured in my head for years now. We’ve been rats on the streets for ages—now we’ve risen up. We’ve got loyal followers, rats in the FBI and police. Our operations are as secure as one can get it. And it’s been bugging me about how... _old_ those members of The Commission here. Reeves, Pixis, Smith, Fritz, Reiss—those ancient gas bags who have been waving their dicks and money around at anyone who is anyone for fifty fucking years. But...what if we start something? Flegel Reeves is a dipshit—I could bait him into a trap easy. We kill him, stage his death like one of the main families did it. His father is an emotional asshole—he’ll be vulnerable then we can kill him too. The families from around the country will be panicked at the mess, the five families which ruled over everyone will be at each other’s throats. Then you come in, you figure out what to do like you always do—how we can use this to our advantage...until we’re the only ones left on top.”

A curt exhale filled with bewilderment leaves Armin—it’s a pipe dream at best. Armin’s eyes dart to the man who is gagged and observing nearby, “Eren, your master conspiracy plan was just leaked to our guest here.”

He waves his hand dismissively, “Don’t worry, he’s not leaving here without his tongue. But I’ll get to that in a minute. In fact,” Eren swivels around. He closes the pliers, clenches the handle and after one swift uprise of his forearm, plunges the tool’s pointed end into the man’s quad. Their prisoner howls, eyes bugging out of his head. Eren’s calloused hand playfully slaps the man’s perspiring cheek; he then grips both of man’s chubby cheeks between a forefinger and thumb, shakes his head, “Hold on to that for me, will ya buddy? It’s the least you can do, especially after you did this to me.” 

The bandaged stub of where Eren’s pinky finger once was rises to the freckled man’s face—a trophy the man bit off when Eren had captured him, brought him back to their headquarters. Anger and fear and agony dampens every line on the face of their struggling captive. The fat man writhes in his chair, bounces about in hopes to get free. Armin watches their guest who flounders for freedom, his expression stoic whereas Eren smirks. He shifts his focus back to his superior, “I’m just saying think about it. With our operation and connections, Florida is secured. We combine that with New York...imagine what we could do.”

The end of Armin’s pen taps on his finely polished desk, “You’re awfully confident in my abilities. That’s quite an operation you're asking me to do. Just because we control the ports doesn’t make us invincible. You’re also forgetting how intelligent Erwin is, that Pixis is a drunk but he’s no fool. Reiss and Fritz have enough money to interest a visit from the Queen of England. That Leonhart police wench hasn’t stopped sniffing about our property either. What makes you think with all these unknown variables, all these obstacles, that we’d be able to get away with such a conspiracy?”

Light from the candles all about the room dance on Eren’s tan, sweaty face. It heightens the crisp color of his skin, the razor-edge of his collarbones. Armin is transfixed, “Faith is a powerful thing, isn’t it? You had faith in Mikasa and I when times were bleak. Why can’t I for you?”

Armin’s occupied lips twitch. There’s this heady gaze Eren bores into him—it’s molten intensity and sincerity all wrapped up in frighteningly bold green spheres. The sharpness of Eren’s stare matched with the red-stains on a strong tank-top covered chest induces a twitch in Armin, has him crick his jaw to the side. “How flattering of you to say.” 

“If I didn’t believe it, I wouldn’t say it.”

Armin eyes the numbers in his ledger. Suddenly, the black ink summing all of his wealth doesn’t seem so important anymore tonight. He closes his black book, rises and adjusts the hemming of his ink-colored suit vest. “Looks like I’ll have no choice but to consider it. Once you’ve got an idea in your head, you never let it go. Get finished with what you’re doing there then come up to my quarters,” his hand grabs the back of his neck, bends his chin far back enough to expose the skin of his lean throat and Adam’s apple. The gesture prompts a reactive wriggle of Eren’s brow, as expected, “I _am_ tense and I can think of a couple ways to destress.”

A crooked, lecherous grin tugs high on Eren’s lips. Armin’s attention doesn’t leave his tall watchdog’s as he exits the room.

“So can I, Boss.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you guys have Netflix, I heavily recommend “Fear City: New York vs The Mafia”. Details of “The Commission” are explained there and it’s intensely interesting how law enforcement was able to thwart a state/country wide operation who had such deep pockets. 


End file.
